


Lonely Souls Unholy

by InfiniteFreedom



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Humor, F/F, F/M, Hybrid - Freeform, Werewolf, conflicts, fluff is rare because you'll see, good luck with reading this shit, religious, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteFreedom/pseuds/InfiniteFreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even the holy can escape  the darkness of lonely souls.</p><p>(Or, Shaw has to face a whole Church against Wolves and there's a new player in town that slowly changes everything.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be uploading so many fics at once but my head would explode if i didn't let this out.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm also working on the one where Shaw grows up with Root sort of plot.
> 
>  
> 
> And back to this. ...This is an angsty fic mostly, with lots of religion aspects and conflicts and generally there might be some chapter that will be hard to read. 
> 
>  
> 
> This plot is mostly mapped out, hence why I might update this earlier than If You Leave. 
> 
>  
> 
> Still, bear with me, this story will explore lots of relationships though mainly Rot and Shaw. It might look slow, and I've made up some terms so basically you can ask me in the comments if you get confused, but in order to comprehend the story (which will be complicated) you need to read the whole thing.
> 
>  
> 
> EVEN this Prologue. It might seem unimportant but it's not I swear. Wait til we get to Chapter 1.
> 
>  
> 
> Good Luck! And enjoy!

Silence creeps into the atmosphere like a tiptoeing thief in the night. A shivering cold embraces the room tightly, unkind, and squeezes the air around, leaving no room for breathing or moving. It is a large, wide space, but the sharpness of the temperature almost manages to shrink the elegantly decorated salon into an old storage unit.

 

The music to have once filled the air with a celebrating melody has stopped abruptly, as if in a movie, when the instruments just quit playing in order to emphasize on the tragedy of the never ending moment. 

 

It could be a minute, an hour, a day, a month, a year, a decade, a century even and nobody would notice. Various shades of multiply colored eyes are trained on the middle of the room, and she knows she is the center of attention.

 

But they don't know. They don't know how much more it will take for them to make her flinch, make her hand waver.

 

It doesn't, and therefore the gun won't either.

 

His voice is distant, and she'd rather she was alone right now. But she's not, he can't leave her like that - won't. He will keep telling her to run, to run and hide because she has made a mistake, one that will surely cause her her life, he says. 

 

"You can't do this," he says, "you can't kill him."

 

But she can, of course she can - and she will. No matter how much he warns her on this. "He deserves to die." she answers sternly, emotionlessly. Similar to the voice of an executioner, a professional, an assassin. Her face is blank, and she delivers her best glare at the man in front of her. 

 

She predicts that his men will hunt her, other one like him. But she is the hunter, and that is just that. She almost wants them to come. That would be fun for her. A way to spend the weekend instead of sitting at a bar, having to put up with endless assholes who think they're gold, or pre - studying for her academy.

 

Let them come all they want.  
She doesn't care.

 

Sameen Shaw doesn't care if there are dozens of people watching. She doesn't care if he has a child hugging his leg scared, or if he has a pathetic crying wife standing a few feet away, or if Cole is panicking through the comm link.

 

Sameen Shaw just gets the job done.

 

She leaves three seconds hang between her and her mark, the way she likes to. Just to enjoy the exaggerated manner in which their eyes widen, flicker, with regret or anger she can't decide. 

 

His although, have sadness, and that's a first.

 

Hmm, her mind reels.

 

A first among many however.

 

The shot is ringing loudly throughout the room's walls, and not much later, people are screaming, a crying child is hovering above their dead father, and a blonde tall woman is wailing over her long gone husband. 

 

But to Shaw there is only silence, as if she's deaf to everything happening around her.

 

She is.

 

Cole isn't there anymore, the hunter knows. He closed the comm link far before she took the shot, because he is too good to listen to someone's last moment. He is too pure, and so very unsuitable for this kind of job.

 

Perhaps he failed the trial. 

 

She knows, but she doesn't tell him - because hell. Who is she to care?

 

The job is done, she will get accepted. Shaw doesn't give a shit about the academy's special tests either, but Research thinks she does.

 

It's not like she is going to complain.

 

She's not running, mostly walking, the way out of the modern building, because no one is paying attention to her, even though at least ten people must have called the police.

 

'I did you a favor.' she wants to state, but does not, because again. Who is she to care? 

 

He deserved what he got, that man, who had killed more than thirty people in the last few weeks. She's not sure whether his wife knows what he was, a merciless monster, a stray wolf, but then again that doesn't make it any better. 

 

She doesn't question her orders. 

 

Sameen's not certain whether Cole wanted her to stop because his men could find her either, because he gave her a pretty clear idea of how he thought she shouldn't kill a man whose kid is hugging him affectionately at the same time.

 

Maybe he was disgusted.  
He cared.

 

'Huh', she thinks. 

'At least that makes one of us.'

 

 

←↓→

"Do you believe in God?"

 

By late September, any flower in Russia that had been ablaze with color in the spring has wilted, has curled inward and died slowly. The humidity has began to creep up, the alleys in downtown Moscow smelling of cheap alcohol and decay.

 

Two people don't have to experience it though, safely gathered in the warmth of a large abandoned building - or at least that's how it appears to be on the outside.

 

The interior is as in a Victorian age, perhaps the inside of a castle built back at that century. There are swords hanging on each wall, armor, and other weaponry, each of which any experienced person can recognize from afar. The walls are from brick, covered occasionally by large flags once belonging to knights, and crucifixes, and images of some imaginary wars.

 

It's dark, the way it's supposed to be, but the chandeliers are doing a good job at lighting their vision. It's a good operating place, so special, hidden in plain sight.

 

He admires the intelligence and efficiency, so badly described by their instructors back at New York.

 

The mild 'it's a fortress' and vague 'you will be amazed' barely do the place justice.

 

"No." the word jumps from wall to wall and rests on his ears heavily, yet he can tell by the doubtful look in her eyes, she is taken aback. 

 

He's holding onto that small book again, bound by leather, worshipped by lords and kings and peasants for ages now.

 

'The Bible' is written with white on the front, and it comes to high contrast with the rest of the room.

 

His finger rubs on the letters absently, and the way he leans on the wall behind him a bit more comes naturally.

 

He opens it after, at a seemingly random page - though he knows better than to do just that - and lets his eyes glide over the letters she herself can't see.

 

"To kill someone is to kill a being created in God's image," he reads, his tone a melange of serious and questioning. Silence resurfaces and then he states a bit more clearly, "thou shalt not kill."

 

From the far east corner of the room, where the corridor leading to the hall is, the are distinguishable sounds of footsteps approaching.

 

He closes the book and shifts ever so lightly, finally turning his eyes back on her indifferent ones. 

 

Dark orbs are looking at him and at the same time not. 

 

He wonders what these eyes look like when she's different, when she's her other self.

 

She has her hands occupied by a stake and a knife, and she doesn't even offer him a pause, doesn't even halt the sharpening for a second's attention. 

 

It's cruel when she acknowledges him with empty eyes, but he's gotten so used to it by now that if he pretends it doesn't hurt, he almost believes it. 

 

Almost.

 

He looks down at the sting then looks up at the dullness.

She stops. Turns her head towards the door. Starts again. 

 

He sighs, once again proven wrong of his expectations. 

 

The gun tucked in beneath his shirt feels too heavy, too out of place to be his. Then again he remembers it actually isn't, it belongs to one of their previous kills, one of their previous victims. 

 

His mind drifts back to the man with a kid holding on to him, and as he holds the gun out he can see their screams reflecting off the metal.

 

'Does she ever see that?' he wonders but doesn't dare look up at her.

 

How many more missions before they're accepted to that God forsaken academy? 

 

How can they all project God as their leader when they order them to kill those people? 

 

Humans, shape-shifters, demons. 

 

His eyes trace the edges of his stake.

 

Vampires. 

 

They kill them with no remorse, always because those monsters were all sinners, because they've slain humans and good ones that have been missed by their families, that have been loved. 

 

Yet those monsters have been loved as well, and aren't they sinners too if they murder images of Him?

 

She seems unfazed, unbothered by the idea, and he's known she's different ever since they first met at that high school. 

 

She kills people like her and doesn't think twice about it.

 

Monsters taught to side with The Church. 

 

That's what they call persons like her.

 

The footsteps are getting louder by the second. 

 

"Who are we to judge who dies and who lives?" he finally asks, not attempting to hide the sadness seeping through his voice. 

 

She merely shrugs and keeps working.

 

He wishes she'd at least say something to support their so called beliefs till now.

 

Because now that she doesn't…… 

 

The impending doom on the horizon only intensifies in his eyes. 

 

←↓→

 

He drowns and chokes and dies in his own puddle of blood. 

 

She runs and kills and rises to the Crosser she's always been meant to be.

 

She's a wolf and she kills for The Church, she kills because it's what she's good at.

 

She doesn't mourn, doesn't think twice of him, when she enters the large academy gates in the middle of nowhere in a small town called Machina. 

 

She doesn't because his memory doesn't belong to a place full of murderers and ruthless hunters. 

 

She doesn't because it's easier to sleep at nights if she doesn't. 

 

←↓→

 

And so it begins.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rêves
> 
> Dreams ; noun 
> 
> A sequence of images, thoughts and emotions, that appears during sleep and is caused by partial and automatic function of the brain.

Your feet stand on hard ground. 

There is little grass and many stones, but your vision is a blur and you can't see.

 

The sky is gray. Clouds are gathered together in the center of the sky and they're shapeless,  
just endless masses dancing around a nonexistent sun.

 

It might be early morning but you wouldn't know.

 

Your eyes land upon a small cabin a little further away down the field, and you decide you want to pay it a visit. 

 

There's a storm coming, you know.

 

You can smell it.

 

Under your skin and in your bones, a chill spreads, but it's not the one you cherish, not the one that thrills you with the promise of freedom and nature.

 

It's a bad one of sorts, and you move quickly, one foot in front of the other to reach your destination. 

 

You gaze ahead, inspecting the rather empty landscape, and move and move.

 

The ground only stays hard.

 

Your eyes drift to the cabin again. Still there yet still far away.

 

You look down. 

 

You haven't moved at all.

 

Your dark orbs flare with something -

 

There's a sound. Small and distant but it's there.

 

In front of you, the ground shifts and it becomes yellow. 

Orange then red red red.

 

You take a step back. 

 

You're still stuck in your previous position.

 

Red and orange and yellow. 

 

The sound, you hear it again. 

You look up.

 

Crows. 

 

The sound becomes clearer   
somehow, more definite.

 

Screams. 

 

The crows are screaming. You feel shivers everywhere. 

 

Wood creaks and you snap your head towards the cabin. 

 

It's burning.

 

Fire.

 

Yellow and orange and red.

 

Screams and chaos and crows and you want to move but you can't.

 

The crows are surrounding you like the hunters their prey, and you growl angrily because you're the hunter. You're the Crosser -

 

From the corner of your eye you see a figure. 

 

Too far away, standing motionless next to the cabin.

 

Don't they see it burns?

The crows scream louder.

 

One leaves. It flies in the fire and burns. 

 

You want to speak but you can't.

 

The fire only grows stronger. 

 

The flames are inches away from engulfing the mystery person and you want to move, not because you care but because you're curious. 

 

The crows attack you.

 

The flames engulf them.

 

Then darkness.

 

\---

 

She blinks and it's gone. Light floods through the window and she shifts uncomfortably in the small leather chair she is seated on.

 

It's a warm day, too warm for October, but then again the weather here is never stable.

 

It's like this village works with its own seasons, its own rules.

 

Machina is a strange place. That she knows for sure.

 

Sun rays reflect on the desk in the center of the small room, and she attempts to trace the patterns with her eyes.

 

She blinks again. "That's where it ends." she says unwavering. 

 

The small, frail human in front of her, looks out the window absently, his eyes so very more blue now that the sun gifts them illumination. 

 

Hers stay trained on the wooden desk.

 

"Always?" he asks with that skeptic voice of his, and doesn't let his gaze leave the seemingly important landscape outside his window.

 

It's just a forest, but she knows it like the back of her hand, and she doubts he even knows how to get in.

 

He stares out there every time, and she tries not to feel too smug about beating him on that.

 

Like he sees something, like he can penetrate the tall trees and reach into the heart of the forest.

 

She has run through that forest so many times she knows, that heart doesn't exist.

 

Crossers howl and put limits, their wolves marking the trees with scratches and blood, to indicate territory.

 

Machina is a strange place, but it's a fortress.

 

"Always." she states and she's lost count of how many times she's said the exact same thing to him this month.

 

The dreams only ever stay the same, yet every week he calls her into his office, and she sits at the leather chair, and he stares out the window, and the conversation ends with 'Always.'

 

 

Again and again and again, and she's given up on understanding why it would ever be different.

 

He sighs and turns his eyes on her.

 

She waits for a change, maybe another word, his thoughts on the matter, but all she gets is the standard "You are free to leave Ms. Shaw."

 

She rolls her eyes and the way things are going, maybe she'll be able to quote him next time, too.

 

Yes Machina is a strange place.

 

But Harold Finch is an even stranger man.

 

←↓→

 

The main cafeteria is as full as anytime.

 

From young adults to full adults,  
from humans to Crossers, either professors or guards, or students and trainers, no one particularly stands out.

 

There's a guard in the main entry, stock still and as tense as a statue. Shaw admires him because of his focus and patience, as inexperienced and immature kids Sameen would have definitely punched if it were her, pass by him and mock.

 

She thinks it's stupid, that they accept persons like these in the Academy, where discipline and respect towards the eldest are top values. 

 

She sits down on one of the white cafe tables, and unwraps her sandwich. 

 

Fresh, with lettuce and ham, and meat.

 

She has the wolf to feed after all.

 

She's alone and she doesn't mind, and nobody spares her a glance as they chit and chat about "Oh! Did you hear about the new graveyard?" and "My dad said the Crossers marked the west last night!"

 

Shaw only huffs and minds her business, waiting for the guard to signal for everyone to move to their respectful training.

 

Her next training period is 'History of Forgotten Creatures' and she's not sure Professor Claypool would appreciate her being late, yet again.

 

She doesn't like the subject. It's full of historical facts about creatures of the east and how the Priests captured them and generally way too many talks and no actions. 

 

She'd much rather skip to her fourth period already, that involves running and shooting.

 

 

"Hey Wolf." she hears the voice above her head and barely flinches, raising her eyes to meet another human's ones.

 

Joss Carter can be quite intimidating when she wants, but with a smile like this, Shaw could easily pass her off as a teenager.

 

She's older, and Shaw likes her. Well in whatever way she can support that term.

 

Carter is smart and serious, one of the humans she knows have passed through actual trials like herself to get accepted here.

 

She's not shitting around, and she's not too old for taking down any kind of threat. Her son is a Crosser, but Shaw barely sees him in the forest.

 

She's not really dying to know why.

 

Next to Joss stands Fusco, the police man that always hangs around here, looking to solve inexistent problens, but nobody considers him as a threat and Shaw also finds way too little care into figuring out why.

 

She scowls. "Don't call me that."

 

The sun fills the white cafeteria with warmth, uncovering on its wake both tired and excited faces.

 

'The Wolf is not something to be called upon.' rings deeply in her mind.

 

'The Wolf is not a value to be proud of.'

 

Joss Carter only huffs and waves her hand as if dismissing the remark.

 

If only these words could be actually brushed off.

No.

 

Innerly Sameen hits herself. She's a Crosser, property of The Church, she doesn't care about anything else than the hunting.

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

'We protect The Church.'

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

Joss sits down across from Shaw, and Fusco tentatively joins her.

 

She doesn't blame him. Shaw might be tiny but she has a reputation. 

 

One that began from the day 'The Crosser who fought in Russia' stepped foot in this huge Academy.

 

Really. The whole village could be just covered from this facility only.

 

She is one of the Academy's best Crossers, and a lot envy hers and the pack's relationship. The way the elders seem to trust her with crucial tasks as marking a new territory. 

 

 

Shaw bites her sandwich and ignores them both.

 

She respects Carter, but her mind is drifting elsewhere, to the day before in the west side of Machina, the night, the howls and the moon, the feeling of the Wolf finally released after all this time.

 

Last night was vital to say the least. She marked and ran with the rest of the pack, and she can still feel the effects of the andren -

 

Stop.

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

She's not the Wolf.

 

"I heard you took part in last night's marking." the human says and Shaw frowns at her over a mouthful of food.

 

"I take part in every marking."

 

Shaw remains stoic even though she can already guess where Carter is going with this.

 

Joss nods firmly and opens a bottle of water. "Yes but I've heard of you as far as the process is concerned only this time."

 

Well that can't be completely true, since she's usually mentioned as 'a very quick Crosser' and 'she always runs close to the alpha'. Although Shaw isn't showing it, she feels something very close to pride swarm up her chest at those words.

 

She bites the inside of her cheek and lets the sandwich lie on the plate forgotten.

 

Across the hall, the guard stirs.

 

She turns her eyes back to Joss.

 

"I marked the new graveyard with John."

 

Fusco almost chokes on his food, but Carter merely smirks. 

 

"He really trusts you doesn't he?"

 

Your stomach burns. The guard moves.

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

She smirks back. "I'd trust me too."

 

Joss's eyes gleam before she laughs, but Sameen remains composed and aching.

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

'Don't give in the Wolf Shaw.' John reminded her gravelly.

 

Shaw doesn't like the Wolf.

 

The marking is only a liberation, a way to get the burden that is the Wolf off her shoulders.

 

'We are nobodies. We are possessions.'

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

The guard whistles. 

 

Shaw doesn't spend another second before launching towards the corridor. 

 

 

←↓→

 

Exhale.

 

Inhale.

 

Her feet spring into action the moment her nostrils flare, and in a matter of seconds the yard blurs around her like all landscapes do behind a train's window.

 

She runs with her eyes set forward, not one glance spent towards the others running to her left.

 

She's fast, the fastest of all together, and the wind that has taken over the atmosphere doesn't bother her one bit.

 

The inner Wolf begs to come out and play but she restrains it just as she's been taught, just like The Church has ordered a thousand times.

 

'Close your fists and clench, until the skin is nothing but a cover, until you can reach into the meat and hurt the beast, silence it.'

 

She doesn't feel the sting, and the blood that trickles down her hands only urges her to run more, run faster, run and only stop when she hears the whistle.

 

On the far east of the wide yard, there's a small, black figure moving like raindrops hit the ground, and she counts two seconds, that register as an eternity to her before there's a familiar whistle taking over the sound of padding feet and crunching leaves.

 

Just like the faithful soldier that she is, Shaw forces her feet to stop, unclenches her hands abruptly, and shuts her eyes.

 

 

Rush of air leaves her lungs and hits only empty space, carrying through the wind like a wandering promise. 

 

She loves running, likes these little training sessions almost as much as what recedes them - the shooting.

 

"Again." is heard over most of shallow breaths and hushed tones, a harsh, and demanding male voice.

 

Sameen turns around to face about a 20 feets' distance from the rest of her class, and she nods to herself.

 

2 seconds, to cross 70 feet. Next time it'll be one.

 

It's a goal and a challenge that she sets for herself, and she won't stop til she satisfies herself.

 

She starts walking back towards Professor Hersh, ignoring resolutely the little blood spots dripping on the Academy's yard from her wounded palms.

 

They will heal.

 

She doesn't do pain. When it appears she welcomes it, accepts it for what it is, a grounding force, a way to handle the inner beast.

 

She remembers the first time she met Professor Hersh, one of the many trainers for the Crossers. 

 

He had been clear, strictly indifferent about what, why and how she had gotten here.

 

'Just so we're clear. Nothing matters outside The Academy. In here I'm your teacher and you listen to me.' 

 

Shaw had admired his pure professionalism and decided she wouldn't let him down.

 

Now, as she makes her way back to the start line, and his eyes glide over the distance appreciatively, she knows she hasn't. 

 

A moment later however, she feels a presence from behind her even before they make themselves announced, and her trainer's eyes turn cold.

 

There's silence and her own pair of dark brown meet Devon's, the only kid in class she can bear to listen to. His eyes narrow over her shoulder, but she stays neutral, unperturbed.

 

Most people have heard about last night's marking, and she has now incredibly fast gone from 'the one who fought in Russia' to 'the alpha's probable successor'.

 

The term both pleases her - how fast she has become a good hunter - and unnerves her, the latter because she doesn't want to be considered Crosser Reese's little right hand - although she appreciates the faith he puts in her - or The Church's pawn.

 

Also, she is not a probable successor.

 

She is the successor. She is certain of it. And if there's one thing that makes sense in this village, then it's the natural development of these things.

 

She's the best of all the other trainees, more powerful and capable than some of the elders as well, and it's only logical that John will make sure she gets his position. 

 

If last night was any indication, that process has already begun.

 

"Shaw," the summon is firm, sharp, purposeful. She stops on her tracks and faces back the way she came from, "walk with me?"

 

The man with the ever present suit and a distinct gravelly voice has his hands in the expensive pants' pockets, as he stares at Sameen with blue eyes that are both authoritative and friendly.

 

Shaw has never done well with the former, but she knows where she stands and she knows when to back off.

 

It's why she is good at what she does.

 

There's a stillness gathering around, but it breaks as soon as Shaw takes the first step.

 

Hersh might be her teacher, but Reese is the alpha, the alpha of her pack, and she can't simply ignore him.

 

Although the guy barely even calls himself that, and most of the times he acts like he's Shaw's childhood friend.

 

If she hadn't experienced him during the marking, she would have thought he was just another candidate for The Academy.

 

Still. He is her alpha.

 

She hears whispers and chatters but pays them no attention. 

 

She sees John's eyes flick behind her to Hersh, alpha to alpha.

 

Shaw does not look over her shoulder, does not intend to get involved. 

 

These are two elder Crossers in a silent battle of wills, and as much as she supports the idea that she can take them down both, she continues walking with her head held high, uncertain what the purpose of this unexpected meeting is, but not scared nonetheless. 

 

In the end, apparently Hersh backed off, because John gives a curt nod and drops his gaze back to the shorter brunette.

 

As Shaw lessens the steps between them, he reaches for her arms.

 

Shaw scowls, she doesn't want to be touched, but it wouldn't be the first time John checks her, and it doesn't mean anything other than that anyway - a check up.

 

Palms facing the sky, she stops in front of him, and watches him scrutinize the slowly healing nail marks.

 

"You shouldn't push yourself that much." he states matter of factly, his eyes scanning over the never ending bloody tracks all over her hands. 

 

"This is just a training session." he adds.

 

Shaw huffs and retracts her hands to her sides. John Reese, forever the gentleman. 

 

"I'm fine. I just ran very fast." she brushes him off and shakes her head.

 

He mimics her and remarks, "you always run very fast." 

 

He takes her in with his eyes before slightly turning around. "That's no longer an acceptable excuse," he gestures for her to follow, away from the rest of the group, "not that I ever accepted it."

 

Shaw only rolls her eyes and walks next to him, staring ahead.

 

It looks like they are heading outside the yard. 

 

The Academy is like an old castle, what with the stone walls, and multiple decorations. It reminds Shaw of Russia, and another time, but as soon as the thought resurfaces, she locks it away.

 

The yard extends to the forest, separated from the tall, beautifully crafted silver fence, the large front gate spelling 'Machina Academy' with majestic golden letters.

 

To the east of the huge building is The Church, probably only twenty minutes away.

 

She's walked that distance exactly fourteen times and she can't say she's excited to make it fifteen.

 

Each visit to The Church ends with pain and new mantras, new words and beliefs carved in her brain, more scars to add to her collection. 

 

Also from that direction a person can go to the actual village, which is practically consisted of an inn, two or three cafés, a thousand years old lady painting portraits and a few houses.

 

Lots of paths that lead to forests, cliffs, roads that keep going on high mountains, along the coast of the beach, and forests forests forests.

 

To the west is the actual forest, seemingly the place Reese is leading her to now.

 

From here if someone looks up, they can see the Academy towering over them, like Hogwarts a nerd had once claimed, but that nerd is dead and Sameen doesn't think the simile fits.

 

There are many windows, spread all over symmetrically enlightening classes and libraries. 

 

To enter the facility one has to get through the gate first, walk the yard, then reach 'Franquule'.

 

'Franquule' is basically an opening that expands left and right to large hallways, that are out in the open, out of the actual building.

 

Pylons support the upper floors, the whole castle, and they are the only things interrupting sunlight from hitting the hallways full on.

 

The hallway to the left, leads to the storage room, a gigantic salle with billions of items inside. The one to the right leads to a bridge - another way inside the forest. The bridge helps avoid getting lost in the endless sea, though Sameen doubts anyone uses it anyway.

 

'Franquule' is most probably another nerd term someone chose to use to name his creation, in 6th century or whatever.

 

Shaw doesn't care.

 

"Yeah well," she retorts spitefully, "you wouldn't have to accept anything if these fools would stop moving like turtles. I feel like I might have actually crossed the sea before they manage to cross 50 feet."

 

John sends an amused glance her way, and a cocked eyebrow. 

 

Some time passes as he opens the gate and lets her out, following shortly after.

 

"You did good yesterday." he finally says.

 

She opts not to speak and let him go on.

 

Reese slows his pace down as they turn to the west, towards the large trees. It makes Shaw curious because generally, Crossers like her aren't supposed to wander off in the woods unless it's marking time.

 

"It was a heavy task, and risky," his gaze drifts to the green landscape surrounding them, "nevertheless you pulled it off."

 

Risky because she could have given in the Wolf. Because she could have enjoyed it.

 

Guilt. She recognizes the relentless tug at her chest as guilt.

 

"But?"

 

He sighs and stops."The elders aren't pleased."

 

There they go.

 

She frowns and stops as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

"You're too young Shaw, they believe I'm overtrusting you."

 

Trust. Too much trust. Shaw wants to hit her head on a brick.

 

"I've done everything you've - they've told me since day one." she accuses.

 

John looks away. "It's not that you have failed any of us, Shaw," he looks back at her with a perplexed look, "it's that you are too good."

 

She shakes her head. Too good?

How can she be too good? She's good because it's what's desirable.

 

Before she has time to say anything he speaks again.

 

"You've got quite the reputation."

"If that's the problem, then maybe you shouldn't stop me in the middle of class to take a walk with me every once in a while John."

 

Instantly, his eyes turn sharp, Shaw innerly berates herself.

 

"People talk about you being the successor," he starts, a hint of agitation and effort in his voice, "that's not something simple Sameen."

 

It's the first time since ever he has called her by her first name, and it sounds so foreign, too odd to be true.

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

'You protect The Church. You don't care about personal achievements. The pack or the Wolves. You are not the Wolf.'

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

"I never said I thought it was."

 

"You act like it."

 

Shaw's mind backtracks. "Well, I'm sorry, but I didn't fight in Russia just -"

 

"Russia is Russia, and it stays there Shaw," he interrupts her with a voice just above normal, "this is a whole other world."

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

'We protect The Church. That's all that matters.'

 

Her insides burn and she clenches her fists, because something isn't going well.

 

"I know that." she states.

 

"Do you?"

 

Shaw has a hard time figuring out whether his tone is mocking or not.

 

'Control the Beast.'

'Don't give in the Wolf, Shaw.'

 

Her fingernails go deep in her skin, and for a moment she feels like she's on fire.

 

Yellow, orange, red -

 

"You're angry," John tilts his head and his deadpan voice snaps her out of it, unclenching her hands, releasing a breath she didn't know she held, "so just take a look at your hands."

 

Chancing a glance down her palms, she sees angry red marks, and blood wallowing from everywhere. 

 

She clenches her jaw and looks away.

 

What is going on with her? 

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

'You are not the Wolf.'

 

(Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

 

"Finch told me about the dreams." he adds in almost a whisper, and her dark orbs snap back up to his lighter ones.

 

"What?"

 

That is supposed to be confidential. 

 

"I'm your alpha, I was bound to know one way or another."

 

Shaw chooses not to deign that with an answer, instead she scoffs and asks, "What does that have to do with anything?"

 

He blinks a few times before he stares at her seriously. "It has to do with you."

 

She rolls her eyes again. "Everyone has dreams. It's not a bad thing."

 

"You mean nightmares." his tone is close to humorous. 

 

She glares. "Still normal."

 

John scrutinizes her for another second before shrugging. "That still doesn't make it a necessarily good thing."

 

He starts walking back towards the yard, and she has to stride to catch up with him. 

 

"I wouldn't know," she states and knows she catches his attention, "HAROLD isn't really into sharing his opinions."

 

From the corner of her eye she sees him smirk.

 

"Harold is secretive like that."

 

The rest of the walk is silent, with Shaw mostly confused and torn, unwilling to admit to herself that out of the blue she can't control her Wolf.

 

And the possibility that John is reconsidering his faith.

 

Everything is just too surreal, and it's all started with that marking last night.

 

Or in general ever since John started paying 'special attention' to her. 

 

And the dreams. She has to get rid of those.

 

She thinks she might explode just as they reach the 'Franquule' as apparently, her earlier class has already finished.

 

Did time pass that quickly? Usually she'd beg for it to pass.

 

"Tomorrow," he breaks the silence and starts walking off, "come find me."

 

She just stands there looking at him.

 

"We have some research to do." 

 

His words get lost in the wind, but Sameen's sharp hearing grasps them, just as she's starting to wonder if things are bound to get even more complicated. 

 

She guesses they will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have questions askkk


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lien
> 
>  
> 
> Bond ; noun
> 
>  
> 
> Relationship that requires or entails moral, legal or sentimental affair.

She's rather flustered and sweaty and her head pounds like hell when she wakes up. There's the distinct sound of raindrops hitting the window to her left, and as she raises her head to look around, it's obvious that she's the only one awake in the room. Her roommates are snoring indiscreetly but she doesn't mind, well not really. Anything is better than the continuous screaming of crows in her head.

 

The dream was different this time. Not fundamentally, but the details, Sameen learnt to distinguish the details. More than one crows got burnt, and the figure this time… it looked…more vivid.

 

She shakes it off her head.

 

The wall clock above the door signals 5:00 a.m, and Shaw knows she'll have to get up soon. The Academy starts lessons at 8:30 a.m, but she needs to get up to clear her head from all the images clouding her. She's gotten used to the feeling, especially after all this time of the same Goddamn dream.

 

She rubs her eyes half - heartedly, getting up and changing to some comfortable clothes. Baggy pants, and tank top on, she hides her pocket knife and grabs a hoodie, heading for the room's exit.

 

The corridor is thankfully empty - because of course, who has been seeing the same cabin burning for more than a month now to feel the need to take an early morning run? - as she walks down cautiously, weaving her way out of The Academy with agility and silence.

 

As soon as she steps out of the Franquule, shivers travel down her spine and arms. The rain hasn't stopped, and Shaw finds herself wondering why exactly the weather has taken such a downturn. She pulls the hoodie on, covering her ponytail and bare arms.

 

It's a given that she's not supposed to leave the Academy, at least according to Control. If Shaw had known that the woman was also the headmistress for The Academy...it is entirely possible that she might have not applied for it in the first place.

 

There is no light in the sky as she makes her way down the yard, enough experienced to know that nobody keeps watch in the front at this time of the day. 

Clouds gather and create a huge mass of grey, seemingly ready to eat the world alive. She feels water drip down her body and picks up her pace, ignoring the increasing feeling of threat at the back of her neck. It's the temperature, so unusual for someone like her, with the warm Wolf inside her. The air is thick and wet, her shoes drenched in mud as they step on the dirt.

 

Finally, she reaches the large gate that leads outside. She starts climbing, since she can't risk letting anyone know she's getting out. The metal would make a screeching sound not very unlike a scream were she to open it, and even though the guards don't have eyes here right now, they have ears. Acute, and capable, considering the fact that some are Crossers as well.

 

The gate, too big in her glory, is not hard to climb, but it takes time and skill. When she reaches the top, feels like she trekked a mountain, she's ready to make her way down the other side.

 

However, her eyes are ruled by mist that spreads cold silence to the place.

 

She stills. Something is wrong, and it's not the low temperature that has the hair on her neck stand.

 

She looks around, herself about six meters high from the ground, barely able to distinguish The Academy's tall towers on the horizon. Her feet clench, ready to pounce down on the ground, sensing a presence way too close to her. There are no sounds, no splatter of the water hitting various surfaces, no nothing.

 

She extends her hand. Waits. Raindrops hit it wildly. 

 

Her breath hitches and andrenaline pulses through her veins as she realizes she can't hear a thing. She rattles the gate and suddenly doesn't care less about whether or not the guards will detect her or not, because she's deaf.

 

Deaf, as in she can't hear a single thing.

 

What the -

 

A scream. Shrill, empty and loud, pierces her scull and she loses her grip on the gate, missing the support and nearly falling to the ground, if it wasn't for a palm reaching out to grab the metal. Her shoulder stretches abruptly from the force, and the pain that hits it is excruciating. She curses and bites her lip from shouting. The world blurs around the edges of her vision, and her thoughts all of a sudden become jumbled, a rare feeling of confusion settling over her.

 

Her nails dig in her skin and she looks up, trying to figure what the hell is going on. She doesn't have time to react before a black form shapes from the fog, and comes right at her.

 

Even if she couldn't see a thing, even if she was locked away in the depths of Earth, she would have recognised its voice.

 

A crow.

 

Images flash in front of her eyes fervently, of fire and a cabin and a black haired figure swallowed by the flames. Her throat constricts and she shuts her eyes tightly closed, while the surprising attack has her palm slipping and she's falling, her shoulder aching and her feet unable to stabilize themselves. 

 

But the expected impact never comes, at least not the way she imagined it. She falls on something, but that something is covered in warmth and a texture far too smooth to be the hard pathway outside The Academy.

 

She opens her eyes when she hears a groan, gets to her feet despite the soreness and raises her fists. 

 

Sameen does not do fear. She doesn't get scared but she gets thrilled, itching to pull out her knife and slice some skin open. She hesitates just in case it's a guard playing pranks on her.

 

It's no one. It's no one, she thinks to herself again and again because there is no way anyone is awake right now and Machina is a fortress, and why would anybody want to attack a school girl escaping from The Academy?

 

But Sameen can't even be convincing to herself and so she looks down and checks. Nobody is there. Nobody is there because they're standing up and they're looking down at her. Nobody is there because John is here and he's buried in a black coat and he's staring at her both amused and perplexed. 

 

Noone is there and Shaw hates it because that would mean she could fight and she thinks she might just need that, otherwise she may resolve to punching that idiotic look off of her own alpha's face.

 

He brushes some leaves from his expensive coat. "Good morning to you too Shaw."

 

His tone is curious but patronizing, and Sameen rolls her eyes before soothing her shoulder.

 

It's way too soon for this shit.

 

"Reese. What are you doing here?" She asks and he sends a look at her that screams ridiculous.

 

His eyes are penetrating and Sameen almost flinches at the staring - and isn't it rude to stare at someone like that? She's not an exception to that rule you know.

 

"I could ask you the same thing," he ends up smirking, and she knows he's mocking her for her little attempt to break a rule or two.

 

Of course John doesn't give a shit whether or not she does something like this, as long as her actions don't reflect back on the pack. He finds it more funny than disappointing, she guesses.

 

She doesn't plan on telling him that it isn't funny at all, because for a minute up there she could hear absolutely nothing, and the crows from her dreams either just decided to pay her a visit or she's hallucinating. Both train of thoughts are horrifying. 

 

Let alone the train of thought leading to telling John. That train has derailed since the very first second it began.

 

She avoids his question and instead begins :

"So," she states, "I thought I was going to come find you."

 

"Shaw," he repeats more composed now, "what were you doing up there?"

 

She only glares in response. It seems to be enough. 

 

He nods seriously and turns around, heading toward the direction they went for yesterday. "Change of plans," he waves for her to follow, "come on."

 

Shaw narrows her eyes before matching his brisk pace. Thankfully, the sound of raindrops is back in her ear.

 

What the heck was that anyway? The crow, the scream, the fog…

 

The images from the dream. Finch's supposed therapy is doing crap, she decides.

 

She looks over to John, who has his hands on top of his head to prevent the rain from ruining his hair, and wonders if he saw all that. How much did he see?

 

Not much judging by the fact he hasn't asked about her shoulder. If he knew he would have probably carried her to the nurse, ( even though she's perfectly capable of handling herself thank you very much ), ever the white knight. Her shoulder is healing quickly but it feels uncomfortable and her mind jumps around with effort to digest her early morning adventure.

 

Speaking of adventures. "Mind telling me where we're going?"

 

He gives her a half smile. 

 

"The forest."

 

Well things just got a ton more interesting. 

 

←↓→

 

One hour and forty seven minutes. That's exactly how long they've been walking for. She's counting, and as seconds tick by like dust unsettled by the wind, forty seven become forty eight.

 

Almost two hours and Shaw is contemplating to just suggest what it is that she's struggling not to suggest.

 

The Wolves.

 

Honestly, if they'd just turn, everything would be a 100% easier. They'd go wherever John was getting them to a lot faster, and Shaw wouldn't have to suffer the hard leaves and splinters through her sneakers. The forest is somewhere she only is allowed to go to when it's for the marking. Even then, they've already unleashed the Wolves so that none of the rookies remember the way. 

 

Sameen has managed to memorize half the route by now. 

 

She figures that if John risks this, then this little trekking is absolutely necessary.

 

First period. It's probably past 8:30. So that means she's missing out on Weapon Craft. Great. She hopes John will cover for her. Then she remembers the reputation thingy and doubts he will. 

 

Maybe Finch will.

 

Ugh.

 

The narrow trail in between the trees is rather wet and unwelcoming, washed out by this month's earlier winter rains, and John throws a glance back at Shaw's lithe form as the path finally gives way to an open field. 

 

John leaves a big exhale as they step into the clearing. A huge clearing in fact, almost as big as The Academy's facility.

 

"We're here," he states and turns to face her fully. The tall trees hide everything and anything outside the forest, only flowers and grass peeking out from beneath. 

 

The rain hasn't stopped, but it's not very annoying anymore. Not too heavy either.

 

"Okay…" She says back, and her tone is both affirmative and questioning. Like testing the word on her tongue.

 

John eyes her curiously for a moment, nearly in the manner he did back when he first met her, introduced by Control.

 

When he finally relents at her steady glare, they walk another thirty meters in the field and then he stops again. 

 

But that doesn't grab her attention. What does is the cabin's outline overwhelming his, far behind, near some trees, buried in the shadows.

 

A chill runs down her whole body.

 

"What are we doing here?" Her voice is cold and stiff, as her brain connects the dots simultaneously. The field is as hard and the atmosphere as bleak as she remembers it, as she experienced it.

 

John stares at her firmly. "Is this it?"

 

"Is what it?"

 

"The place from your dream."

 

Nightmare. Now that she sees it actually exists, she knows. It's a nightmare and it's worse than she could have ever imagined. Her nails dig in the heels of her palms, the Wolf inside her feeling threatened, and her lungs apparently not consuming necessary amount of air.

 

Shaw suddenly feels powerless and pressed, and the rain that hits her ponytail isn't making her feel any better.

 

Even though she knows John doesn't in fact need the confirmation, she nods.  
He nods back and then heads for the wooden cabin. Rain falls more heavily now, and it leaves the accelerated beat of her heart behind. She doesn't panic, never has, but somehow, seeing this place after a crow has just attacked her makes all this way too real.

 

The cabin is as ruined and brown and creepy as in her dream from up close. John's eyes travel its height up and down, then proceeds to lie his hand on the old, unused door. It's full of cobwebs and the only window next to it has grime on it, with weed sprouting from all over the base. The more Shaw looks at it, the more it seems to decay in front of her.

 

John pushes the door open and it's a miracle it doesn't tumble to the floor.

 

"This," he starts as he steps a foot in, "has been here since mid - 5th century."

 

Shaw swallows and blinks twice, trying to clear the haziness away from her vision. "Like King Arthur era?"

 

Reese shoots her an amused look from inside the house. Sameen isn't inside and truth be told she isn't very excited to find out what it looks like. "We're not in England, Shaw."

 

As if she knows where they are. In the middle of nowhere no doubt.

 

"But yes," he looks around, hands on his side limp but not clenched like Shaw's. "That age." He finishes.

 

That's a long time. And Reese looks like he's been here before, similarly to someone who has walked on these floors before, knows where to keep his eyes and fixated on. Shaw has never asked how old he is, although she has assumed the answer is a rather big number.

 

He drags himself further inside, around a corner and Sameen now can't see him.  
The place is rather ransacked, walls inside rotted and replaced by jagged holes, scratches and the few windows broken with shards of glasses littered all over the wooden floor.

 

"It belonged to someone."

 

"No shit."

 

There's a banging sound and Shaw has half the mind to get the fuck away from here.

 

John emerges from the corner full of dust. "Machina wasn't even Machina yet. This..." He stops. "Nobody approached these woods."

 

Shaw narrows her eyes and takes in the landscape. In her dream, she had no time to dwell on the trees or the field, too taken aback from the crows and preoccupied with a person burning alive. It does look abandoned and not frequently visited even now.

 

"You see fire in your dreams," he adds and picks up something that resembles scorched to the core metal, black from one side, layers of coal and dirt covering it. "There was a fire in here."

 

She feels weightless somehow, as if she's in the dream right now, and she remembers a figure burning alive, the flames engulfing them before she could have done anything. Somehow, she also predicts John's next words.

 

"Someone died." he says.

 

The door is cracked down in the middle, the house burnt and more vivid by the second. 

 

"I saw…" She hesitates, then finds her voice again. "Where you there?"

 

John shakes his head but Sameen can barely tell from the darkness swallowing him in the - perhaps - tiny living room of the cabin.

 

"No."

 

She loses him behind the door for a little, and when he reappears his hands cradle his phone. 

 

"Hey Finch."

 

"Mr. Reese, Ms. Shaw."

 

Shaw rolls her eyes, of course Harold is involved. 

 

Then her breath hitches. Her eyes catch a glimpse of something behind a tree across the field, and she suddenly feels rain drip incessantly from her face to the stony grass. Before she knows it she has already taken a few steps, focusing only there as she does a double take, but there's nothing there.

 

Great. Maybe she IS hallucinating. 

 

Blood in her hands, and head swimming in thoughts, John's voice snaps her out of it. "Shaw?" He asks. "Are you listening?"

 

Shaw whirls around. "What?"

 

Harold sighs through the phone, and just now she realizes John must have put him on speaker. "This cabin used to be resided by a peasant named Trent Russell back then."

 

John nods absently. 

 

"When you first described the cabin in your dreams I couldn't be sure," his frail tone makes her gulp, "but then it all seemed too right for it to be a coincidence."

 

"A coincidence?" John asks before she has the chance to.

 

There's a pause and then movement from the other end of the line. "The fire, that figure and the cabin itself... It's all leading to this."

 

Shaw scoffs. When she was younger, her mother would tell her stories about people with visions and Future Holders.   
Persons, witches that could foresee and relive incidents, prevent bad from happening or using their gift to please themselves. In The Academy, Claypool teaches them about beasts in the East, tells them about myths that include dreams and the subconscious, but they are only that. Myths. A dream is a dream, scientifically only a figment of imagination in relation to the brain, or at worst case scenario, a memory. But Shaw remembers no cabin burning in front her, much less back at 5th century when she wasn't even alive.

 

"Please tell me you don't believe in that crap about people and dreams and visions." She states exasperated and raises her hand to wipe the water trickling down her forehead.

 

John scolds her with blue eyes and Harold with a reprimanding voice. "You're not just anyone Ms. Shaw, you live in a world full of vaguely impossible things. It should not come as a surprise that perhaps, dreams are involved." His shoes meeting tile are audible even through the phone. "They have always been considered dangerous and spiritual by a large variety of cultures."

 

Shaw shakes her head and looks away. So she keeps seeing a cabin burn. What is that supposed to mean? 

 

"I am not crazy Finch." Her voice is sturdy and it helps convince herself as well.

 

"Nobody says you're crazy Shaw." John chimes in and she completely missed the way he had exited the cabin. "Actually, I think it might not have to do with you at all."

 

She stares at him with a confused frown, because neither he nor Harold is elaborating, and it's hard to figure it out by herself.

 

"The Wolf?" She takes a guess.

 

Finch hums. "Yes indeed."

 

"The person that died, her name was Hanna Frey." The name tells her absolutely nothing. "She was a stray Wolf."

 

They stay silent for a while, the revelation hanging heavy in the air around her, carried back and forth by the seemingly endless rain.

 

"It is said, that she was murdered during the Massacre, the creation of Machina." Harold begins again, and it isn't the first time Sameen hears of this. Even though no one ever settles on the details, every student in The Academy knows that there was a very honest to God massacre once.

 

"Trent Russell," John continues, "he was the one. Working for The Church."

 

Sameen nods non committal. "So?"

 

"So what you keep seeing Ms. Shaw is something that happened a long long time ago, and normally should have no obligation to see." Harold completes.

 

Why aren't they cutting to the chase? She's cold and soaked wet, and she thinks she can't stop imagining a shady figure behind the trees.

 

Thankfully there's no more backstory that they try to shove into her face. "I'm in the library right now, doing a little research on bonds."

 

John coughs. "Bonds?"

 

Shaw repeats the question in her head. She doesn't like the sound of it at all.

 

"Ms. Shaw has that dream for a reason. I have reasons to believe that the Wolf or she herself must be in some way connected to the whole incident and the only explanation to make sense is a bond."

 

John looks troubled and hesitant, and in the end asks again. "What kind of a bond?"

 

Harold sighs again. "I can't be sure." He states and they hear the thud of a book from miles away. "I doubt it's a bond with Mr. Russell, or the dead woman." Pages turn like their integrity depends on it.

 

"A bond of Wolves include sentimental matters as you know."

 

"I do not have sentiments whatsoever, so what the hell are you implying?" She asks quickly, stopping him from the dangerous line of thought he is drawing.

 

"I'm implying that your subconscious is tied to the incident legitimately, and that you, Ms. Shaw, might be alarmingly involved in some binding deal that is not so easy to get rid of, I'm afraid." He doesn't miss a beat, sounding genuinely concerned. 

 

She wants to bump her head on the wood and break it. Wants to burn the whole place down again and just go back to her normal training schedule, forget all about bonds and stray Wolves and cabins and massacres, that somehow manage to make her angrier and angrier by the minute, and closer to cutting her palms off with her claws.

 

"Finch." She growls, "I do not have a psychic bond with anyone okay? It's just a dream, a coincidence."

 

"There are no coincidences." John interrupts sharply. "Look at yourself Shaw. This place crawls under your skin and you're barely holding yourself from becoming the Wolf."

 

Sameen looks at him furious. "Well then why don't we just leave."

 

The alpha. The alpha is who stares back at her and not John Reese, the kind, firm partner. He stares back at her and she knows she's crossed a line.

 

"Maybe Mr. Reese," Harold clears his throat and breaks through the tension, "maybe you should return to The Academy."

 

"Harold - "

 

"We shall discuss this later. Perhaps for now, it's best if Ms. Shaw returns to her classes." He interrupts. 

 

Ha. Classes. Those seem so far away when there's a possibility that you have a bond with someone dead.

 

"Did you find anything?" He asks a minute later.

 

"No sign that anyone has been here recently." Reese answers blankly. 

 

They stand, rain hard, slight wind in tow.  
Then John shuts the phone and surges forward without so much as a word. Shaw bites the inside of her cheek and follows, but not before one last shiver runs down her spine. She looks over her shoulder one last time, only to see something retreat back in the forest fast. She inhales sharply and turns back around with determination lacing her step.

 

"Do you think it's a bond?" She finally asks, half an hour later, when they pass by a large rock she remembers on their way here earlier.

 

John doesn't look at her, and Shaw thinks he might still be mad at her. She crossed a line and she feels like in the span of just two days she has lost a huge amount of his trust.

 

"I don't know." He answers after what feels like an eternity.

 

His tone is genuinely perplexed, and it makes Sameen unsure of herself in return.

 

It shakes her to the core and she hates it.

 

She hates it and for the very first time in her life, she finds that there is nothing she can do to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and I swear things get spicy next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Questions? Comment and I'll answer.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odeur
> 
>  
> 
> Odor ; noun
> 
>  
> 
> The property of a substance that activates the sense of smell.

"What?" 

 

It's already 1:00 p.m and Sameen hasn't even eaten her lunch yet, hasn't even lounged properly in the cafeteria yet, and it's just too early for her to have to face this shitty, annoying, meaningful looks Grice sends her whenever he wants to talk. It's too early to talk anything, for that matter. 

 

As she looks outside the large window, and eyes the sky, it seems as if the sun is content to relax behind a thick curtain of clouds - as it has been for the last few days. There's a storm coming, and Sam has problem not combining both the literal meaning and the metaphorical sense in her mind. Sometimes, ever since three days ago, when John and herself visited the cabin, she feels like she might suffocate, like she needs to breathe but she can't, not locked in here, like a wild stallion in a stable. 

 

It takes no extreme IQ or self - awareness to understand, comprehend that for some reason the animal inside her urges her to escape, to run away and free, and it's confusing and upsetting her to no end.

 

Outside, the air smells cold, sweet and grass, invades Shaw like some absurd perfume that you want but can't have. 

 

The dreams haven't ceased but she's slightly grown accustomed to waking up with World War III going on in her head.

 

And then there's the bond thing. She hasn't spoken to Finch nor John since Tuesday, but anyway she refuses to believe that she might be somehow connected to someone. 

 

"-Shaw!" Before she has time to fully clear her mind of her thoughts, a pillow lands dead on her face, then tumbles down to the floor by the couch, leaving Shaw with a withering glare directed to the man on the other side of the glass table. He flinches. "Well, you had spaced out."

 

She rolls her eyes as she decides it's not worth the fuss and settles back on her sofa. Comfortably. Then she raises an eyebrow waiting for him to speak. 

 

"So," he begins conversationally, (Shaw has learnt to avoid this type of thing), as he takes out a dagger and discreetly starts sharpening, and that is not allowed, but Shaw would be lying if she said she didn't carry a few of her own. "What's up?"

 

She shoots him an incredulous look. "What's up?" She repeats dumbly, mockingly. 

 

At the tone, he scowls and tsks, "you know what I mean."

 

Shaw tilts her head to the side inquiring, (and yes she does know obviously), because she likes to indulge herself a little, amuse herself with Grice's hesitation and fear as first hand entertainment. "Enlighten me."

 

It's his time to look at her incredulously, but at her blank face he finally takes a breath and shrugs. 

 

"You seem a bit on edge lately."

 

Shaw remains neutral on the outside all the while she's cursing herself on the inside. It's one thing to feel unsettled and another to show it on the outside. 

 

That is weakness. 

 

"I'm always on edge."

 

He sighs. "Well, more edgy than usual."

 

She stays silent, and instead chooses to focus on the window. It's strange, but Shaw feels free when she's amongst nature and trees. More comfortable than she's ever felt in the warmth of her own bed. But every time she lets herself mull it over in her head, she remembers ;

 

(You are not the Wolf. Repeat.)

 

When she turns her eyes back to him, he's studying her with scrutiny. She usually doesn't feel uncomfortable - quite the contrary, she indulges in a staring contest, makes sure to keep her eyes open and make her opponent squirm - but it unsettles her, the way Grice seems to read right through her. If he can, the no doubt others can as well.

 

She doesn't want to be weak.

 

She isn't. 

 

Her eyes fall on something next to him, on the grey couch. It's a box of sorts, wrapped with thick paper like a packet. Why hadn't she seen that? 

 

"Oh yeah I forgot," Devon mumbles and rests the dagger on the table in front of them before grabbing the package and throwing it at her. "Brooks said something about tonight. Ya know, the shit you young gi-"

 

Shaw has the dagger up and pinned a centimeter next to his head on the couch before he can finish pronouncing the word. His eyes widen a fraction, before he outright bursts laughing and removes it, going back to sharpening the thing.

 

Shaw scowls and looks at the object in her own hand. Shaking it a bit, she's slightly confused as to why nothing can be heard jiggling inside. Nothing written on the outside either. Only the Academy's stamp, which makes it official. Is Brooks fucking with her? Or maybe Grice's joking. Her curiosity gets the better of her. She unwraps it carefully, her mind considering the possibility of a bomb, even though that is logically impossible taking into account the fact that this doesn't weigh even remotely close to an infant. 

 

It's a handkerchief. 

 

It's a red, medium sized handkerchief, placed messily in this box. It smells like hell. Shaw even peeks up to Devon to see if he's smelling it but he seems unperturbed. She frowns and smells again. Why the hell would she send that? 

 

She contemplates asking Grice what and why exactly Brooks said it was necessary that Shaw has this but...

 

Her eyes glance out the window. At first, she doesn't recognize his form striding across the yard to the small building in the corner, but her eyes focus past the blurriness of the window and she spots him. Getting up quickly, she packs back the handkerchief and dashes towards the exit.

 

"Hey where the hell are you going? You'll miss lunch!"

 

It's the last thing she hears before she's out and running through the field.

 

←↓→

 

"Sir!" 

 

Professor Hersh is, as a matter of fact, a very hard man to get a hang of, what will all his secrecy and fast, confident walk, but there's always a way if you're willing enough. He turns around only 10 degrees, but never once slows down, and the only action that qualifies as a sign of acknowledgement is that he doesn't speed up either. She jogs up to him. 

 

"Shaw." Curt, hard words as usual. "Fancy meeting you here."

 

She nods and stretches her hand to give him the package without further ado. Hersh doesn't like pointless delays and many words. He along with Control, are the eldest in the school, and the only ones responsible on mailing in and out of the Academy. Her best bet is that he knows what this is about. His eyes study it for a second or two, calculating threats she assumes, before he opens it and sees the handkerchief for himself. At once, he inhales deeply, apparently getting as strong a scent as she did.

 

Within a few seconds he throws the handkerchief to the ground and steps on it, turning its color from vivid red, to muddy deep one. He faces her with an indefinable expression. 

 

"So, you've been invited as well, I see."  
If she detects a bit of mock, she ignores it.

 

"Invited to what, Sir?" She asks instead.

 

Hersh stops and narrows his eyes ever so lightly, as if reading an illegible scribble and trying to focus on the letters to work out the meanings. He finally sticks his hands in his pockets and clears his throat.

 

"Tonight's marking." He states as if there's nothing more to it - but there is, Shaw knows. The last marking was not even a week ago, it is too fast to organize another, unless the strays decided to make a move and they have to push back. But, Shaw thinks to herself, even if so, why the hell would Brooks out of all people attend? She must be participating if she gave Shaw the 'invitation'.

 

She raises an eyebrow. "Brooks?"

 

Hersh smirks - even though it looks a lot more like a grimace on his lips. 

 

"Afraid you're gonna lose your throne, Shaw?" Shaw recoils like a snake, her eyes set dead on his. She feels her fist clench. This time his tone is pure irony and she feels like -

 

What is wrong with her? Hersh is her teacher. Her coach. An elder. Is she really just thinking about getting into a fight with him?

 

She shakes her head. “John chose her?" She asks with a calm tone.

 

"I did."

 

Her eyes snap up. "But John is the alp-"

 

Hersh grits his teeth : "Your alpha." He states somewhat less than amicably. "He is the alpha in your pack Shaw."

 

He gets his palms out of the pockets and fixes his coat's collar.

 

"Later." He leaves.

 

←↓→

 

“You’re not seriously considering.”

 

Of course Devon wouldn’t shut up on the way to the next class. Why did she even tell him? She knows it was a mistake, all things taken into account, but she never assumed Grice would be so adamant about figuring out what and how and why.

 

“What are you talking about?” She asks with a sigh getting ready to sit this one out on the last row. 

 

Devon glares at her, although the offensiveness will get him nowhere, and says, “the marking. Don't you think it's too soon?”

 

“Jealous?”

 

The professor starts talking.

 

“Go to hell.”

 

She pretends she’s not surprised as he gets up and swiftly moves to the front row.

 

←↓→

 

She finds John by the Franquule, watching the sun set absently, his hands tucked within his forever long coat.

 

She’d attempt to sneak up on him, really, but at this point she knows better than to presume he hasn’t already gotten a sniff of the air around him.

 

There’s a breeze tingling her bare arms as she approaches him and she shivers, crossing her arms along her torso to produce warmth.

 

“The Church is onto this.”

 

Shaw's eyes widen a fraction as she settles next to him and finally catches a glimpse of what’s got him so enraptured. 

 

There’s a girl sitting right in front of the gates, legs crossed and hands not visible. The light hits her frame head on and her outline stands out all the while they can only make out her back.

 

“She one of them?” She asks as she nods towards her, but John only shakes his head as he sighs.

 

“Martine and Lambert want to come with,” he starts, never leaving his eyes stray far from the woman’s figure, “check the procedures.”

 

Shaw huffs. “See how their business does?”

 

John eyes her cautiously and with a condescending touch in his big brown orbs, and so she only shakes her head and turns her attention to the girl. She remembers all too vividly the two Crossers, arrogant and supercilious, part of The Church that she’s come to mostly despise.

 

Just fucking great.

 

After minutes, John finally breaks the silence. “She's important.”

 

Shaw doesn’t need him to point out who. The prime Alpha doesn’t just go around wasting his time staring at people’s back without a reason. Sam thinks she’s heard of her before. She’s a loner, one that prefers the company of herself to that of others. She enjoys solitude. 

 

Honestly Shaw would have never guessed she’s a Crosser, a grey wolf with vivid golden fur near her face. Oh yes, she definitely knows this girl, now that she gets a better look as the woman turns slightly to peer at them over her shoulder.

 

Sam doesn't know why she notices but for some unknown reason she does. The girl is mysterious, but Shaw has that inexplicable urge to protect her even if they’ve never met. She looks almost ethereal under the sunset’s attention. Unreal.

 

The notion strikes Sameen in the head, exactly how much she’d like to know her name.

 

“Alexia.” 

 

Shaw flinches as she turns towards John’s baritone voice. 

 

“Her name is Alexia and she’s important somehow.”

 

Shaw wants to ask how but John moves quickly, heading towards the direction of the woods. 

 

“Come on.” He states. “This is bound to be interesting.”

 

She doubts that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me?


End file.
